Fyodor Dostoevsky. The dream of a ridiculous man (№ 7930)

I love, I can love only that land which I left on which were splashes of my blood, when I, ungrateful, shot in my heart, redeemed my life. But never, never ceased I to love the land, and even that night, in parting with her, I maybe loved her more painful than ever. Is there any anguish in this new earth? On our earth we can truly love only with pain and only through pain!
Otherwise, we do not know how to love and don't know other love. I want torment to love. I want I'm craving at this very minute to kiss, with tears, only one-that land which I left, and I don't accept life on any other!..